Feedback Loop
by Not-A-Spy
Summary: Lily Potter was both brilliant and desperate. When Voldemort attacked, she tried something dangerous and unprecedented... Permanently and drastically modifying a child's magical core. Though she feared harming baby Harry, a risky way to give him a small chance was better than certain death at the hands of the Dark Lord. Harry's new core had some unexpected effects, though.
1. Chapter 1

A story by NaS. This story is a mild AU, mostly in the details about how the magical world works. It will probably update slowly.

This is not my Livejournal account, so I won't waste space on introductions. And since this is fan fiction, a disclaimer is not necessary. Have a nice read.

* * *

Lily Potter had always trusted her intuition. If she felt in her gut that something wasn't right, it was almost always a good idea to hole up somewhere and hide. And something was off about the Order lately. Of course, everything was chaotic, you couldn't trust anyone, allies turned against each other for promises of safety or riches, the Imperius curse made corpses of entire families, armies of Inferi ravaged the countryside, backed up by anti-disapparation, anti-portkey, and null-anti-gravity jinxes (to deal with brooms and flying carpets and the like). The Order had left little trip-wards with all the magical families who would agree, and would come careening into battle at the first squawk from them. But Voldemort had discovered this little trick, and just yesterday a clever ambush had lost her three more friends. And her pregnancy was starting to make it impossible to _do _anything. Yes, it was time to hide.

Three months later, Lily was both brilliant and desperate. These two qualities, in sufficient quantities, can lead someone to try things nobody else would even think of, at terrible risk. Her research into communication charms had fallen aside as the war heated up. Instead she studied runes and enchantment and life and soul magic, trying to uncover the inner workings of a witch or wizard's magical core, hoping to develop a defense against the Killing Curse. Then things started falling apart for the Order. The Potters' ancestral home, the Bastion, was a known location, so Lily and James carried off everything of practical or sentimental value (weapons and armor, spellbooks, portraits, heirloom jewelry, potions ingredients, clothes and furniture) and carted it into their Gringotts vault.

Lily's laboratory, deep into the bedrock, dozens of meters below the basement, could not be so easily moved. Instead, she sealed it by filling the entire basement with two feet of plain muggle concrete. Hopefully, with no magical signature of a spell used to seal the area, nobody would ever figure out that there was a hidden sub-basement or think to investigate closer. Wards would just call attention to the hidden complex. The three Potters moved to a random town and hid behind the best possible ward: The Fidelius Charm. In a clever trick, they used someone nobody would expect to hold the secret. And, well, you know the rest.

Lily had not finished her research into magical cores by the time Voldemort attacked. Not even close. Sick fear tore into her gut, almost panic. Not just for herself and her husband, but for the infant child the Dark Lord had marked for death. When her emergency portkey failed to activate, Lily threw everything she had figured out about magical cores and life magic, everything she had ever heard about dark magic, and her ever-trusty intuition all together into a hasty, desperate plan. Lily had such a deep, intuitive understanding of magic that she was no longer just pushing buttons to get a result, saying 'stupefy' to get a beam of stunning light. Instead, she was rearranging the wires and gears, changing the very way magic worked. It was nonverbal, indescribable, and untested.

She could see the way to save Harry, though she wouldn't have been able to write it down. It wouldn't work on her, she was an adult, her magical core's base code had already ossified, and simply refused to budge. But a baby's magic could be modified, _improved_. Maybe enough to make it perform extraordinary feats without little Harry being aware of it at all. A mistake could kill her Harry… But Voldemort would _definitely _kill him. Modifying a magical core, the very essence of what a wizard was, well... If Albus Dumbledore heard of the idea, he would declare it Dark Magic Of The Worst Sort. Terribly risky, you will become something less than human, etc, etc.

But enough of grim thoughts. Panicking or considering moral implications wouldn't save her, or her baby. Action _might_. Though it made her sick, she started to hastily magically operate on her one-year-old child. "It's alright, Harry. Don't worry, mommy's making you safe. No matter what happens, you will always be safe. I'm making you better. I know it feels weird, but it'll be okay. Everything will be okay." Tears streamed down her face as Lily heard James finally fall to a well-aimed Killing Curse. She screamed and begged and stalled for time as Voldemort marched up the stairs, laying a one-of-a-kind sacrificial protective charm directly of her baby's already modified magical core, and pouring everything she had of her own magic into it, gearing the child's core in a way that would make _sure_ Harry couldn't be killed by _this monster!_

Her last thought as the sickly green curse sliced through the air towards her was, _oh no, I forgot to close the _ersatz_ loop…_

* * *

Harry Potter was _always _in pain. A dull ache in his bones and blood and muscle and skin and skull. He felt it when he worked, when he slept, when he studied, when he played (he hadn't gotten the chance to see if he _kept_ hurting if he managed to play for longer than ten minutes during recess, but it didn't seem likely). He had pretty much gotten used to it. Not to say it was comfortable, more like an unavoidable fact of life, just like cleaning and gardening. A side effect of the constant dull ache was that other sorts of pain didn't seem as bad to him as they did to most people. Working so hard his muscles ached or getting shoved into the wall by Dudley's gang was only mildly annoying instead of painfully unpleasant.

The exception to this was hunger. Harry felt hunger deep and keen, a ravaging, implacable need to eat until he was stuffed. The constant hunger was subtly different than the constant ache which tugged at him, and it actually seemed like _pain_ that he could never get used to. Harry munched on other students' leftovers at lunch, and took things like rice and flour from the pantry regularly (he didn't seem to realize that most people _couldn't_ eat things raw, and thought cooking it just made it more pleasant). Every time Petunia asked if he _really_ needed that much flour or oil or shortening, he just nodded.

He even started lifting some of Dudley's spare change (when he could get away with it) and walking to the supermarket to buy discount pasta, scarfing down the hard, crunchy noodles around the back of the building. Afterwards, he would look through dumpsters to find any relatively fresh thrown-out food (he could eat a much bigger variety of things than a normal person, but even Harry had his limits). All in all, he was taking in far more calories than he could possibly be using, but never grew any larger than a normal child.

Harry continued in this pattern for a while. Wake up early, quietly get a snack, clean the kitchen and dining room and living room, make bacon and pancakes, eat some searingly hot bacon straight off the stove and runny pancake mix before the Dursleys came downstairs, go to school, eat the school lunch and all the leftovers he could acquire without letting the teachers figure out what was going on, come home, clean the rest of the house (taking liberal snacks), make dinner (eating a fair portion of the ingredients), do some gardening (more snacking, if Vernon wasn't paying enough attention to the kitchen), sometimes sneak out to the supermarket to munch on more food.

Then one day weird things started happening. The weird things themselves didn't scare him as much as the fact that he _didn't know why they were happening. _Most of the time they were helpful, like when Dudley stepped on Harry's favorite pencil, it spontaneously fixed itself. But another time he somehow ended up on the school building's roof when Dudley and his gang were chasing him, and actually got into _more_ trouble because of it. One last incident took the prize for strange though. He was angry at Aunt Marge's dog and he involuntarily _growled _at it for a few seconds. He also crushed and melted the doorknob he was holding, and Ripper bounded away, whimpering. The strangest thing, though, was that after that last time, he was suddenly really tired, and he felt _so good_. Harry didn't even recognize that the wonderful feeling he was reveling in was simply the absence of the constant dull all-over pain he had been feeling ever since that fateful night nine years ago. Well, the ache wasn't _completely_ gone, but it was a lot weaker. Too bad for him, after a few hours it came back, as strong as ever.

What was even stranger than that, the next day, two people in funny blue robes showed up and started waving sticks around. Harry snatched up a phone and tried to hide when the strangers pointed their sticks at Dudley and the large child started walking around in an aimless daze, but it was pointless because the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad was trained to cast the Person-Revealing Charm in a wide area to find any muggles who might have been affected or seen something. The simple incantation _homenum revelio_ outlined any nearby people in red to the caster's vision.

Seeing that the red outline in the WC was standing with his ear to the door, not sitting on the toilet, the wizard mumbled, _'alohomora,'_ pushing open the door. "Don't be scared, kid. We're here to fix things." Another incantation cast a simple charm designed to identify wizards from squibs and squibs from muggles. "Hey Lennie! I think I found the source. This kid's a muggleborn."

Harry felt trapped and confused. Trying to regain some kind of control, he yelled, "Get out of this house, you muggers! Or I'll call 999 and have the police come here!"

"There's no need for that, kid. We're here to help."

Just goes to show, _talking_ to adults doesn't work. Harry dialed the number. "Surrey emergency services, what is yo-bzzzt!" The wizard besieging him had cast _nox ecstricy_, disabling anything that used electricity in the immediate area. Unfortunately for him, this also included all the lights in the upstairs hall and bathroom. Presented with a sudden opportunity, Harry dived at the wizard, punching his shins (he knew from experience that hurt shins couldn't even walk, much less chase someone) and grabbing at the stick. Unfortunately for Harry, that was when Lennie showed up and cast a simple stunner, saving his partner from the tragic fate of bruised shins.

"Bloody hell, that kid is _vicious_." The elder partner mused. "That bloke Mad-Eye over in the Aurors would like him, eh Lennie?"

"Probably, yeah. Ken, speaking of Aurors, something's wrong here. This kid doesn't seem to even live here. No photos of him, and there's only two bedrooms. I dunno why the hell he was here, maybe he was kidnapped, maybe he's a lost orphan from the war, he wouldn't even have to be a muggleborn... But this needs investigating, and we don't investigate. That means we're gonna have to turn him over to the Aurors, right?"

"Yeah, but I doubt they'll be happy about it. Aurors are always complaining about how much work there is to do and how few people are qualified to do it. To be fair, they're probably right. I know Moody has been complaining for years that we need a whole new Investigation Department so Aurors can track down the Dark Arts instead of petty muggers and muggle-baiters. It's practically his favorite topic, when he isn't hexing people."

"Eesh. I wouldn't want to go to those staff meetings."

"Too bad, kid, you'll have to go to them in a few years anyway. Bring some Living Death. But seriously, we know how to reverse everything from levitation to extra fingers, and how to call in Obliviators when we're in over our head, but anything complicated or confusing like this is Auror territory."

"So what do we do with the kid?"

Proper procedure would have had them call for Aurors and wait there, but it was nearly quitting time and Ken didn't want to be late for his date at _The Five-Elf Cafe_. "Let's take him with us. He doesn't seem to belong _here_, at any rate. Short-term holding cells are actually quite comfortable, you know."

Lennie snorted. "You would know, Ken." Laughing, Ken disapparated along with Harry, and Lennie followed shortly after.

* * *

Harry remembered a red light, and then waking up in a strange room. It had no windows, a small bed that was actually kinda soft, light that didn't seem to come from any light bulbs or windows he could see, and a sink and toilet in one corner. The first thing he did was notice that his _aches_ were worse than usual. The second thing he did was get up and try to open the door. Locked, no surprise. At least this place was bigger than a cupboard. Could it be that Vernon had given him his own room, and Harry had forgotten? _No, that would never happen._

Then a man wearing the same kind of clothes as those weirdos with sticks walked in. This one was dark red instead of blue, though. Did those guys kidnap him? What, did they need someone to do chores for them so they went out hunting for freaks? That was the only thing that made sense to him. "Hey kid," the first one said, "You want something to eat?" Harry stared at the offered plate suspiciously. This was perfectly good food, so it must be some kind of trick, offering it to the freak only to take it away and sneer. Maybe it was actually rotten, just... Well-disguised. In any case, he refused to fall for it!

"What do you want?" Harry demanded.

Auror Proudfoot was a trained interrogator. The first thing they train you to do is to keep a straight face no matter what the other person says or does. Proudfoot replied, "I want to know who you are."

"Why?"

"Because it's my job."

Harry knew he was pushing it with three questions in a row, all of them quite rude, but this guy hadn't hit him or told him to shut up yet. "But what is your job?"

"I'm an Auror. If that doesn't make sense to you, I'm a magical policeman." Eep. Police. Vernon always said not to say anything to police. They're nose into everyone's business and don't leave decent folks alone. Then Proudfoot drew his wand and Harry's mind raced. _No he's too far away to grab the stick too far to punch kick no dodge roll hide..._ But Proudfoot stopped immediately and put the wand away when Harry dove under the bed for cover. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to demonstrate some magic, so you didn't think I was lying. I am actually a wizard, being an Auror is just my job, but a wizard is what I _am_. Kind of like... How a non-magic person, a muggle, can be both a muggle and a, uh, bus driver. Does that make sense? By the way, my name is Proudfoot. What's yours?" Offering harmless or pointless information in a friendly way in order to prompt a response was another standard technique.

"My name's Freak. Or maybe Boy. The teachers at school called me Harry once, though, so maybe that's it."

But when one is dealing with what is almost certainly an abused child (and he was trained to recognize that, too, not like it wasn't bloody obvious), most of the interrogation rules go right out the window. "I'm going to call you Harry. By the way, I think you might be a wizard, too. One of my magic spells can tell whether someone else has magic, and it says you do."

Harry blinked. That might explain... well, a lot. "Could you demonstrate some magic, please? Just don't point your stick at me. The two robbers in blue bathrobes used sticks to mess with Vernon and Dudley and Petunia. It made them stupid and sleepy. I don't want that done to me, that's scarier than Vernon's belt whippings."

Proudfoot took in this new information - beatings - impassively. "I won't promise not to do any magic to you. You might need to be healed if you get hurt, for example, and if you decide to attack me I will need to use magic to stun you so neither of us gets hurt."

Harry's stomach growled. "...Are you sure that food is for me?"

"Yes, it is. I'll even take a bite of it first to prove it's not a poisoned or spoiled or something, if you like. Besides, the Wizengamot would throw me in prison if I poisoned someone like you."

"Please take a bite, Mr. Auror." Leaving the double honorific alone, Proudfoot tore away a chunk of fried diricawl with the fork and ate it, smiling. When Harry just stared expectantly, he also ate two chips, drank some of the pumpkin juice, and took a bite out of the elderberry-flavored pasty. Harry waited for ten seconds, then snatched the whole plate and downed nearly a pound and a half of food in three seconds.

_What the hell?! _Proudfoot was a professional. He did _not_ yell out in surprise or shock. Abused child: Never act surprised, never yell, no sudden movements. He did _not_ reach for his wand, assuming this child was some kind of demon, maybe a hungry dopplegänger. The wards would have gone off if he _was_ something like that. He merely calmly, calmly said, "Wow, you must have been _really_ hungry. I'll just go get some more, alright? Would you like some water?"

"Thanks." The large goblet of water was also gone in moments. Proudfoot left the room as quickly as he could while still seeming calm and collected. _Wow, that's one hungry kid. That has to be some kind of accidental magic. At least Harry isn't too thin, he's been getting food. He wasn't just hungry because he hasn't been eating enough._

Proudfoot's supervisor and observer, Kingsley Shacklebolt, mumbled, "That kid is scary. Did you hear Kenneth Yelm's report? He took advantage of half a second of hesitation and dived at his shins and grabbed at his wand. Who _attacks_ when they're cornered, at age, what, he looks like he's ten? Merlin."

"Look. I noticed something else, and it could be something big, but I'm not certain, so I'm just going to follow procedure until I am. Those two AMRs, the guys who brought him in, already screwed up 'proper procedure' but I can at least try. I got a first name out of him, so now I need to go check the records department for orphaned wizards around that age. I'll use the Tome to check the muggle records for strange events around children with his name and age, too."

The magically self-updating Muggle Records Tome was a legitimate wonder of the magical world, designed and enchanted by Bathilda Bagshot, back in her prime. It took up more space than entire departments, and it meticulously copied, annotated, and analyzed just about everything Muggle governments all over the world wrote down, and could search through the vast, magically-hidden stacks of paperwork for relevant things at a word. The ten workstations would be rented out at decent rates to obscure historians or academics, except none of the really qualified academics wanted their names in the log book, lest they gain a reputation as a muggle-lover. It was a shame Bathilda never got around the interference problem where it failed to interpret magical records, thanks to their anti-counterfeiting and security obscuring charms.

The Tome sometimes had an odd interpretation of what counted as a government; A couple years ago Microsoft's internal reports had started showing up, and more large companies' reports soon after that, while new governments from recent uprisings or reorganizations or especially ongoing rebellions sometimes wouldn't be recognized for months. What was really useful for the DMLE, though, was that one day vast numbers of threat reports and police alerts started coming in from MI-5, MI-6, and the French, German, American, or any other countries' equivalents of those administrations, documenting every slightly odd individual who attracted the muggle Aurors' passing attention. The Tome really was quite an excellent tool for tracking down things in the muggle world, since it could instantly, magically find and compare documents from dozens of different bureaucracies that would never normally talk to each other. Aurors and DMLE agents used it a lot to track down wizards on the run who went muggle, but didn't quite know how to blend in.

Proudfoot walked to the cafeteria to get two more loaded-down plates of food for Harry, forking over a galleon and seven sickles. _Whatever, I'll just report it as a supplies expense._ He gave the food to Harry along with an empty mug he could fill up at the sink, and said, "I have some other things to do, Harry, but I'll come back and talk to you some more in a couple of hours. Is there anything you want right now, though?"

"You got me lots of food, I'll be fine. I hate being hungry _so much_, but being bored isn't nearly as bad."

"Alright. See you later, kid."

Half an hour's investigating confirmed Proudfoot's already-strong suspicion that the Boy Who Lived was in his holding cell. The question was, did he tell Rufus Scrimgeor, head of the Aurors, that Harry Potter was right under his nose, or go straight to the top and see Amelia Bones, head of the whole Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Scrimgeor was ruthless, an excellent investigator, and a politician, but dangerous only to those who get in the way of his plans or threaten him somehow. Harry potter was famous enough that he'd fit into the categories of both tool and threat. Bones was tough and fair and respected The Law almost more than her own family, so she would be the more likely to have a wizard orphan's best interests at heart.

Albus Dumbledore didn't even come up in his head. Sure, the Headmaster would need to be told later, and the Chief Warlock of the wizarding world's legislative body would surely find out sooner or later too, but they weren't the ones who sprung to mind as being able to control or prevent the scramble that was about to happen over a Famous Hero being treated so badly, and by muggles no less. He could already hear the blood-purists gloating. Proudfoot snorted. _I hate politics._

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

A story by NaS. This story is a mild AU, mostly in the details about how the magical world works. It will probably update slowly.

This is not my Livejournal account, so I won't waste space on introductions. And since this is fan fiction, a disclaimer is not necessary. Have a nice read.

* * *

Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore was a living legend. He defeated the most powerful Dark Lord in living memory (for historians agreed that Grindelwald was stronger in raw force, though less cunning, than the Dark Lord who followed him), and fought the next one, dreaded Voldemort, to a standstill despite his slowly accumulating curses, wounds, and age. He negotiated a peaceable end to the Russo-Mongolian Beast Wars by saving the High Czar from a clever poising attempt, then recapturing a legion of dragons released by Russian extremists to ravage the magical Mongols' Ironfleece herds, successfully enticing both Russia and Mongolia into joining the International Confederation of Wizards. He invented fourteen new types of wards, all defending in completely new ways and some defending from completely new dangers, and applied them seamlessly to Hogwarts and the ICW's headquarters in the Swiss mountains. Unfortunately the new Ministry of Magic building's warding scheme was too new, not entrenched enough to allow further protections to be layered on like the centuries-old Hogwarts Castle or the ICW's ancient home of _Hemligslott._

But Albus Dumbledore was an extremely busy man, behind all these great deeds, occupied with plots and politics. He did not know of the unfortunate life or rapidly changing fate of Harry Potter. In fact, he had little reason to think about the boy at all, with his time and energy so occupied by opposing increasingly creature-hostile and anti-muggle politics in Britain and abroad. Sure, he had been the source of Voldemort's demise, somehow, but he was with a presumably loving family and away from a society that would idolize him, smother him, take advantage of him, and do who-knows-what to his childhood and growth. There was no reason for a statesman and Headmaster to regularly check upon a child he had no actual relation to. He was just an old teacher of the boy's parents, and hadn't seen the child more than a two or three times. He was practically a stranger. After establishing subtle, reasonable protections and unobtrusive monitors over his homestead, what reason was there for him to concern himself with this particular child, when there were things of global import to deal with?

Therefore the Headmaster, Chief Warlock, and Supreme Mugwump, settling down at his desk in Hogwarts to deal with long-overdue paperwork, did not know about the drama and politics unfolding in the DMLE at this very moment. As soon as the rumors started spreading, that the Boy-Who-Lived was in the ministry, Auror Proudfoot quickly visited Harry again, found him asleep, and parked himself in front of the holding cell, refusing to budge for anyone. His buddies locked people out of the observation room, too. Soon the rumors grew more widespread and imaginative, as rumors tend to do: He was a squib, he was a demon, he was wandering around muggle London, he had done some terrible crime, he was being protected from someone who wanted him dead...

Very quickly, though, the center of government turned to politics. The most prominent faction was the pureblood supremacists. They latched onto the rumor that the muggle world had mistreated and abused their savior, and that he needed to be placed into a proper pureblood home so he could learn important traditions and skills. Meanwhile Amelia Bones steadfastly planted her feet on the matter of doing everything by the books, and keeping the boy away from all the kerfuffle, as it would just upset him. Who was his official guardian? Where are his parents' wills? What did the boy himself want? It was only when Minister Fudge sent Dumbledore an owl asking for advice on the Boy Who Lived that the old headmaster realized anything was happening. Striding confidently, the Headmaster flooed to the Ministry and walked towards the holding cells where he knew Harry Potter was sleeping. The guard at the door to the complex let him by, but Proudfoot refused.

"Don't try to get past me, Albus." Proudfoot told him, "Nobody can see the boy unless it is officially authorized. Madam Bones herself gave the order two hours ago."

"I hadn't planned to invade his privacy. I am merely concerned for the boy's health and well-being, as I once knew his parents. But of course, it's perfectly reasonable that distant acquaintances should not see him at this time. There would be so many who desire to do so that he would be overwhelmed. I do wish to ask, however, whether he has been seen by a licensed Healer yet? Given the circumstances in which he was found, I think that might be prudent."

"Good point," Proudfoot reluctantly admitted, "I'll send a message to Madam Bones suggesting it. Our staff healer who does basic checks for all arrests should suffice, even though the child's presence is highly irregular, as he hasn't been arrested or accused of anything. Ministry holding cells are not generally used for anything other than holding criminals. However, for now I am going to have to ask you to leave, Chief Warlock."

"Very well. I suppose I shall go join Minister Fudge, Madam Bones, and Lord Malfoy's conference in the DMLE office. Have a good day."

Dumbledore strode in among the arguing political powers as if nothing in the world was wrong. He fished a lemon drop from his pocket and began sucking on it, peaceably observing the argument until Minister Fudge noticed him, and dragged the other two participants over to his spot by the wall, yelling, "What do you have to say about this, Dumbledore?"

"About what, my dear minister? I'm afraid I don't know why you three esteemed people are arguing so urgently."

Fudge made a large and indeterminate hand gesture. "You know what! It's about-"

"Actually, Headmaster," Lucius interrupted smoothly, "This issue is none of your concern. Neither the office of Headmaster of Hogwarts nor your position as Chief Warlock have any bearing on the issue at hand. Therefore I ask that you leave us to our... Discussion."

"I'm sure I can provide an outside view to whatever is bothering you three so much."

Amelia Bones spoke up. "I'm afraid he's right, Mr. Dumbledore. The issue at hand is both confidential-" She tried not to wince at the fact that _everyone_ knew already, "And a matter of established law, where neither lawmakers nor school administrators have a place at this time."

"Surely as Chief Warlock you could allow me to stand in as an impartial adviser. Besides, if this is about what I suspect, my school has a stake in this in a year or two."

Lucius interjected, "You are mistaken when you present it as _your_ school, Headmaster. The Board of Governors has the ultimate authority there."

Suddenly an Obliviator ran up. "Madam Bones! We found the..." He glanced at Dumbledore, "Uh, the document you asked for. Also, Auror Proudfoot has suggested that we have our staff Healer visit the holding cells. Just to check." He kept glancing at Dumbledore, unsure if the wizard was supposed to be there.

"Thank you. I'll ask her to see Harry tomorrow morning, she's already gone home for today. You're dismissed. And Albus, I realize it's futile to try to keep you from this, but try anything funny and I'll have you thrown out of my office faster than you can say 'snidget'."

"Understood. Now, just to clarify, we are talking about Harry Potter, who was found and brought here by two DMLE members earlier today, correct?"

"Yes. He was found dressed in rags, inside a muggle home that contained no evidence of him living there, but one other child who was clearly related to the adult occupants. We have absolutely no idea why the boy was there, so I dispatched an Auror detachment to study the area and attempt to gather clues. They should be arriving back within an hour or two. Meanwhile, we must deal with where and how the child is to be cared for. This is a much more delicate matter than for any normal child given his history, but we must not forget that Harry Potter is not a force of nature or a political poker chip, but an underage wizard with all rights and responsibilities that entails."

"I concur with Amelia," Dumbledore said, "After all, it wouldn't do to be seen giving special treatment to someone just because he's famous, would it, Minister Fudge?"

"Er, that is to say, I'm just concerned, what with his special circumstances..."

Lucius smoothly covered for the minister's nervousness. "Nobody is suggesting that we give the boy more or less than a fair treatment, Albus. I am simply concerned for the proper procedure and measures of privacy. People with no relevant authority should not be present."

"I am Chief Warlock. I can serve as an adviser in any matter involving the Law of our ministry. What exactly are _your _qualifications for being part of this discussion, Lord Malfoy?" The two titans' eyes locked in a battle of wills that neither really wanted to escalate at that exact moment.

"You make a fair point, _Mr._ Dumbledore." Lucius squeezed the title, emphasizing the fact that the name of Dumbledore was not actually a Noble House. "But as formally designated representative of almost _half _of all sitting members of the Wizengamot (You do remember the vote two months ago, yes? No? Oh yes, I believe you were in Sweden at _Hemligslott_ at the time...), I have as much of a claim to an advisory role as you.

"Gentleman," Madam Bones interrupted, "Yoy two may serve as advisers to the situation, but we must do this according to established law. The child has committed no crime, but will be held in the custody of the DMLE until we can clear up the circumstances surrounding this situation. This is irregular, but it cannot be helped, since we have absolutely no records about him except his birth certificate. Our initial report says he was brought in by two Accidental Magic Reversal Squad members after they found him inside a muggle home which showed no evidence of him living there. This is not proper protocol for a magical child found in a muggle area, and the AMR agents have been chastised, and a note put in their record. I have dispatched an Auror to investigate the home and neighborhood in question and get a clearer picture of what is going on.

"Auror Proudfoot conducted a preliminary interview was told by the child that the his first name was 'Harry'. In the Muggle Records Tome, Prpudfoot then found a student named 'Harry Potter' registered at the public school nearest the muggle home in question. The photograph in the school records matches the child in our holding cells. Several people who personally knew Lily and James have testified to me that the child looks very similar to them. This seems to indicate that this child is, in fact, the Boy-Who-Lived, who was present at Vol-" Minister Fudge squawked loudly. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's destruction 10 years ago. It also indicates that he lived in that neighborhood, though perhaps not in that particular house. Also, I plan to ask on-staff Healer to conduct a standard examination of Harry Potter tomorrow morning."

Lucius Malfoy's voice was a perfectly cast tone of responsibility and parental concern as he said, "Our society has clearly let down this innocent child, despite the great service he performed us. We must get to the bottom of this and decide what will become of him, making sure that the good of magical society as a whole is reflected in our decision."

Dumbledore interjected, "It is possible that nothing was wrong with where he was. Perhaps he was simply visiting his friends and the AMR squad mistakenly took him. On the other hand, it is equally possible that he was being imprisoned and abused at that home, though I find that doubtful. As Lord Malfoy has said, we simply need more information."

"Of course." Amelia turned to some papers on her desk. "I have pulled the relevant copies of laws pertaining to the placement and care of magical orphans and my analysts have begun reviewing them. The most obvious law is the Magical Child Protection Act of 1792, revised 1845, which states in section XII paragraph III that: 'A childe who is deprived of both living parents by any circumstance or misfortune shall be cared for according to the following provisions, provided his determined placement does not violate other relevant laws regarding children: First, if the childe is of a Noble House of any sort, the Head of that House shall determine the care and keeping of the childe. If the House has no acting Head, the Will and Testament of the parents shall determine the care and keeping of the childe. The father's will shall be considered before the mother's in this case. If the parents have not written a Will and Testament, or if the persons designated in that Will and Testament are unsuited for the care of a childe, the care and keeping of the childe will be remanded to the State until a willing family can be found to take in the childe.'"

"Basically, if he had a living Head of House, the Head would decide what becomes of him. As there is no head of House Potter, the will of James or Lily Potter will determine his fate. If they conflict, James's will takes precedence. If neither will can be found, his care is remanded to the Ministry. After interpreting the laws and custom of childcare in general, I have decided that in this case I will form a special committee and take applications for a willing foster family to care for the boy in a normal fashion. If this happens I will also ensure the Ministry provides a certain measure of oversight, such as medical examinations and examination of his new home to ensure it is a safe and healthy environment for the boy. Since his care would be the Ministry's responsibility in this case, we will ensure that he is being cared for adequately. Do any of you gentlemen have anything to add?"

"I think you've summed it up quite nicely, Amelia." Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Now all we must do is wait to see if James or Lily's wills are discovered." Dumbledore had found a copy of the wills in the Godric's Hollow ruins, but that copy was since destroyed in a Transfiguration accident during an experiment attempting to imitate some clever muggle machinery called 'rockets,' and thus no longer held legal value.

The will had designated Alice and Frank Longbottom, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Petunia Dursley, in that order, as caretakers for the boy (should they be willing). After securing Petunia's agreement to care for the child, at least until the Longbottoms could be found, Dumbledore had turned his mind to more immediate matters, such as hunting down the remaining Death Eaters and ensuring the traitor Sirius Black did not escape justice. By the time everything was settled, the aging wizard had quite forgotten about the small boy he had escorted to a muggle home two weeks ago. Several months later, he realized his negligence and looked in on the child. Seeing the babe being fed some sort of green goo by Petunia, Dumbledore left him to his new, happy home after setting up some basic wards to determine whether the child was injured or in danger.

* * *

The next morning, no wills had yet been produced from inside the ministry. Auror Proudfoot left his guard post to, Mrs. Cartwell, a middle-aged witch who nearly got into the Auror program but was placed in the regular DMLE instead. She was very strict, rivaling Professor McGonagall in severity if not Transfiguration talent, and could be trusted to follow her orders, diligently guard the holding cells turned temporary hotel through the night, and not disturb the little boy everyone was talking about unless he requested something.

Said 'little boy' woke up very early in the morning, and loudly requested food. Mrs. Cartwell had been warned about his extremely large appetite, so she had stuffed her internally-expanded purse with all sorts of things. Healthy things like sandwiches and chicken noodle soup carried in a bowl that was enchanted not to let anything out of it unless it was leaving in a spoon. And this presented an excellent opportunity to get rid of that 'haggis' thing her cousin Agnes kept making for some reason. Harry ate all of it happily, while Mrs. Cartwell smiled at someone who appreciated food so much.

"You've got a good appetite, child. That's great, it'll put some meat on your bones. And it's hard for a woman to dislike someone who enjoys her cooking."

Harry smiled. "You didn't have to go out of the way to feed me, but thanks. I hate being hungry more than anything else. But do you know where that Auror I was talking to yesterday is? I have some questions for him. And can I go outside? This is better than my old room but I still don't like to be stuck in it." He didn't _trust_ adults generally, but giving him food was going a long way to making him think that these adults were _better_, at least.

"Auror Proudfoot is at home, dear. He'll probably be back some time this afternoon. And I'm sorry, but I can't let you go outside right now. I know you must not like being cooped up here, but when we found you it set off something very complicated here. You weren't supposed to be in the muggle world, where there's no magic. But we don't know where you _are_ supposed to be, so the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been looking up laws and trying to find documents ever since you got here, trying to figure out what they ought to do with you. I hear that whatever happens, you'll probably get a say in it. Oh, and they're going to have a Healer look at you later today. That's kind of like a Doctor, but with magic." Mrs. Cartwell had a good memory for muggle things, but only to a certain level of modernity, since she had gone to Hogwarts just a few years after WWII ended.

"I can say no, right? Doctors have to tell you what they're doing and you can say you don't want it. And they can't _make_ you answer questions. I heard that on the Telly once."

"Well, in most cases you can ask the Healer not to treat you, yes. But if there is something wrong with you that would kill you soon, the Healer will have to try to fix it anyway. They swear a binding oath that's actually quite complicated, and one of the conditions in the oath is to _attempt_ to save people from imminent death, even if they do not wish to be healed."

The bit about him getting a say probably wasn't actually true, but if the boy detected the falsehood it didn't show. Harry grimly accepted that he was a prisoner for now, was going to have to see a doctor and answer lots of probing questions, and as ever was getting little to no say about where he goes or what he does. At least they hadn't made him do any chores. In fact, he had mostly just slept and ate since he got here. Much better than cooking and cleaning for hours a day. Though he did wish he could feel fresh air and the sun on his skin.

As it was a Sunday afternoon when Harry arrived, Gringotts was closed for the day. After his visit to Harry, Auror Proudfoot left to visit Gringotts Bank as an official representative from the Ministry of Magic. Walking through the tall marble doors, he shuddered at the feeling of ancient wards washing over him. When his turn in line came up, he walked up to the goblin and said, "Perusant to the Eighth Peace Terms and Economic Treaty between the Goblin Nation and the British Wizengamot, I am submitting a formal request to receive any certified copies of the last will and testament of James Potter or Lily Potter, who died in 1981, held or stored by Gringotts. In accordance with the treaty, the Ministry will pay a service charge of one hundred galleons for each properly certified and legitimate will."

The goblin sneered at him. "Come with me. You will wait while we search our records." Proudfoot nodded, and patiently followed behind the slow goblin through the labyrinth that was Gringotts' inner halls. They came to a room that was completely empty except for a large selection of gruesome, violent paintings and eight chairs. "Wait here." Proudfoot sat down and patiently waited. This was one of the most boring parts of dealing with Goblins. They enjoyed any excuse to make wizards and witches wait.

Three hours later, the goblin returned. "We have found the Will and Testament of both James Potter and Lily Potter. They were certified and placed on record here on June 17, 1981."

"Allow me to verify the wills as legitimate before arranging payment."

"Fine, be quick about it," snapped the goblin. Proudfoot checked the two documents with the special stamp issued to him by the Ameila. This stamp would show up red if the document had not been certified by official Ministry regulation charms, and green if it was a legitimate will that had been processed and approved at the Ministry of Magic at some point. It showed up green on both documents.

Proudfoot nodded. "Very well." Producing two pre-packaged stacks of 100 galleons, he said, "Here is the bank's payment for this service."

He stayed while the goblin painstakingly counted every coin. Finding no fault, the goblin grumbled and replied, "You may leave now."

Proudfoot walked to the exit as fast as he possibly could. Outright running would have showed fear, which the goblins could exploit, but simply leaving quickly showed caution, which meant that he respected their military strength. Glad to be free of the horrid creatures, Proudfoot apparated back into the Ministry with the two wills.

* * *

I read all reviews, reply to some, and appreciate every Favorite and Follow. The logo is a möbius strip, if anyone was curious.


	3. Chapter 3

A story by NaS. This story is a mild AU, mostly in the details about how the magical world works. It will probably update slowly.

This is not my Livejournal account, so I won't waste space on introductions. And since this is fan fiction, a disclaimer is not necessary. Have a nice read.

* * *

Healer Amanda Cassidy was from America. She came over to Britain during the 1983 Dragon Pox epidemic that ravaged Europe and hit the already-backpedaling England, Wales, and Scotland especially hard (the plague and the wars both left Ireland relatively untouched, oddly enough). At the time she had a Mediwitch license and had just finished the fourth out of ten years of Mediwitch residency that would allow her to take the official Healer Examination to be certified as a Healer in the Western Federation of Magical States. The certification would hold in most of the other nations signed on to ICW standards, from Ethiopia to Korea to Brazil to France.

But not the Southern Confederation or the Northern Union, those two were still too busy skirmishing with each other over slavery and creature/part-human rights to bother much with international politics, like adopting international standards or signing trade treaties. They hadn't just stopped developing new magic in 1861, but the kinds of things that were well developed in East America were very different than the kinds of things popular in the rest of the world. There was nowhere else to find things like Southern Confederacy's fine-tuned Werewolf Collars, useful to point the mad beasts at one's foes in a more or less organized fashion and keep them from turning on each other. Cassidy still shivered when she thought about those. One werewolf without Wolfsbane was really nasty to deal with, but twenty all at once... Ugh. The Northern Union, however, was good at large-scale magic, the kind that lets one or two wizards fill an acre of a forest containing between zero and twenty werewolves with fire in less than fifteen seconds.

Hearing about the massive outbreak in Europe, she volunteered under the ICW volunteer medic exchange program. By volunteering to help in a dangerous epidemic for one year, she would get three years' worth of experience counting towards her requirement. could continue to serve in her ICW post for three more years and earn a Healer license in four years of final residency instead of the usual six. It also came with free room and board for the duration of her emergency relief post, and a nice 20-galleon per month pay raise. Sure, there was the risk of infection, but she was studying to become a Healer to heal people, not hide behind a quarantine screen her whole life. She ended up getting sick herself about four months in, but survived the ordeal of having a parasitic virus feed on her magic, and came back to continue tending to the sick with fewer precautions, thanks to her hard-earned immunity to the current strain of Dragon Pox.

When her three years were up and she earned an official, internationally recognized Healer's License, she decided she liked the friends she had made during the epidemic and afterwards, and stayed in Britain. And here she was, 11 years later, tending to a boy who was apparently The Boy Who Lived, and saved the whole Islands from the from the wretched terrorist that was Voldemort. Now there was a nasty bit of business. Amanda remembered treating lots of long-term complications from various curses and tortures inflicted by him and his minions. Three years after his fall there were still a dwindling number of surviving curse victims. Sadly, most serious long-term curses claimed their victims in five to eight years, so there were almost no curse survivors who lived to 1989.

She walked into the holding cell where the child was. They had brought in some toys and books (which were carefully examined by Harry, especially the moving pictures, but quickly discarded in favor of _more food_), so they were at least _trying_ to pretend he wasn't being held prisoner. Cassidy didn't like it one bit, but she knew the whole thing was complicated and irregular, and complaining about it would expose her to the vicious politics in the Ministry. Instead, she followed her orders and nodded to the tired-looking DMLE witch guarding the door. Harry Potter... For some reason, a lot of people were making a very big deal about this child. But she didn't like to get mixed up in stuff that wasn't about Healing.

"I'm here to give the boy a medical examination. Make sure there's nothing wrong with him."

"Yes, I got an order that you're to be permitted to do that. May I see your Healer license? Very good. Oh, thank you, by the way. He's such a hungry child, it's good to see a growing boy eat his fill, but it's also a little worrying. I think he ate more for breakfast than I eat in a whole day!"

"There are a couple of possible reasons he would suddenly get very hungry, but I'll take a look at that. If you'll excuse me..."

Mrs. Cartwell nodded and followed the Healer in. "Harry, this is the Healer I mentioned earlier. She's going to make sure everything inside you is working as it should be, alright?"

"Hello, Harry. I'm Healer Cassidy, but you can call me Amanda if you want."

Harry just stared. "Mrs. Cassidy, will you please tell me what you're doing while you do it?"

"Of course. And you should actually call me 'Miss' Cassidy, or Healer Cassidy. I'm not married."

"Oh. The only people called Miss I ever met were little kids. Sorry."

"It's quite alright. Now, I need to check you over. It'll be a standard examination for me, but I don't know how muggle Healers do these sorts of things so a lot of it will probably be different. I need to give you both a physical examination and a magical examination. The physical exam comes first." She pulled out a headset-like device and a hand-sized smooth stone covered in runes. The headset went over her ears, and a pair of glasses slid down it over her eyes. "Now Harry, I'd like you to stand up. This is a mediscope, it detects all sorts of things about the human body. I'm going to ask you to do a series of things designed to test whether anything's wrong with your body or if it's functioning just like a human body ought to. Things like touching your toes, or taking a deep breath and holding it."

She tsk'd quietly to herself. Why hadn't they given the boy anything more decent to wear? These rags didn't fit and were obviously filthy. Did they dismiss them as 'muggle clothes'? Even if they were, such unsanitary things were a health hazard. She resolved to secure him something else, even prison robes if no other options presented themselves. After that, Healer Cassidy proceeded through her examination with clipped businesslike tones, explaining what she was testing for and what various results indicated as the small child asked lots of questions. At one point she pressed down on Harry's arm with a particular side of the mediscope to test for anything wrong with the bones. His whole body was giving results that were slightly odd, just odd enough to warrant a deeper investigation at some other time. None of the tiny irregularities posed any immediate threat to his health. Finding nothing worth correcting immediately in her physical exam, she put away her mediscope and brought out her wand.

"Nothing seems to be wrong with your physical body, but I did get a couple of vaguely odd results. Nothing wrong, just high electrical response in your limbs and a higher than average body temperature. I might suggest that you get a more thorough examination some other time. My mediscope is only a basic instrument meant for quick exams, full-out hospitals have much better equipment for seeing anything little that might turn into problems later. Now, it's time for a magical exam. I need to use my wand on you for this, and I will cast a few small directed spells meant to interact with your magic and elicit a response, so I can decide if your magic is working properly or not. I won't do anything that hurts you, and you can refuse the magical examination if you wish, but I really suggest that you allow me to have a look. You wouldn't want to get sick because of something your Healer didn't even know about."

Harry thought about it for a minute. "I still son't really understand the idea that I have _magic_, and it's not just that strange things happen around me sometimes, so go ahead. I might feel something magical."

"If you want to feel really magical, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until you get your first wand. Connecting with your first wand is a powerful feeling. I suggest you savor it, when you get your wand."

"Will _any_ wand do that? Even someone else's?" Harry was thinking about the two burglars. He had nearly gotten a hand on one of their sticks, the same kind this doctor was calling her 'wand'. A magic wand, sure, that made sense. He wouldn't want to ruin it by grabbing the wrong wand too early.

"No, wands that belong to someone else won't react to you at all. You might be able to use them, but never very well. And they won't bond to you like fresh, new wands will. Even when you're getting a new wand, only a few wands out of thousands might like you well enough to let you use them, and you have to try them all to figure out which ones those are. It's a bit aggravating really, but you're going to use your wand every day. You've got to make sure it's a good one." She smiled at the boy.

"There, I'm all done. My scans told me your magic is a fair bit rowdier than most people's, and you had a big burst of accidental magic recently. That might be why you're so hungry now. Also, your magic pushed back at me a little the whole time. We're not sure of the reason why, but usually children who respond to scans like that turn out to be stronger than most others. So you're going to be a powerful little wizard, but nothing seems to be wrong with your magic. Did you feel anything during the scan?"

"No, I didn't." Vaguely disappointed, Harry asked, "How much variance is there in magical power? Like, how much stronger is the strongest person than the average person? And can you ask whoever's outside to send me some more food?"

"Most people stay within one and a half times as strong as each other, but once in a while someone gets lucky and is _much_ stronger, three or four times as strong as average. That's quite rare, though. Dumbledore is the only one of those in the UK right now, I think. I'll let the DMLE know you're hungry. Have a nice day, Mr. Potter."

* * *

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Lord Malfoy. It would violate my Auror oaths, even if I _accidentally_ let something slip. I don't even know the content of these documents, myself, since I have been directly ordered that nobody is to read them, not even me, until they are delivered to and confirmed by Amelia Bones. All I was allowed to do was read the names listed on the document's seals and verify that the official Ministry sealing charms were intact. Even your esteemed lordship must understand that the strict security measures meant to protect a Noble House must apply to everyone, even those above suspicion. After all, you would be quite upset if someone, say, disguised as a Lord managed to interfere with _your_ family's will due to lax security."

"A quality law enforcement department would keep the hypothetical imposter from getting anywhere near such secure documents."

"Yes, but bypassing security measures for any reason _reduces_ the quality of our law enforcement. We must all be diligent, lest something slip through the cracks."

"I see. Thank you for your... _Diligence_." He managed to make it sound like poison. "Good day, Auror."

Proudfoot gave a loud sigh. Albus Dumbledore approached as he exited the lift into the DMLE offices. The Auror warned him, "Don't even bloody try." Dumbledore nodded and turned towards the Floo. _At least he's polite enough to know when it's useless._

He marched into the entry room for the DMLE Head's office. After applying no less than 19 scanning and detection charms on the documents, on the room, and on his person (and the secretary), he walked into Amelia Bones' office. Then, they both worked 9 of the strongest anti-observation charms Aurors ever learned. Amelia performed an additional 5. Finally, Proudfoot commented, "Here they are, Amelia. I verified them with the stamp, it read a fully intact sealing charm. And I successfully fended off both Malfoy and Dumbledore from getting an early look at the documents, too." The reporters in Diagon weren't worth mentioning, Aurors barely even thought about them most of the time.

"Good work. Now, after I perform some additional tests for verification, we can issue the emergency assembly of the Wizengamot, as ordered by Minister Fudge."

Proudfoot turned about and patiently stood vigil while Amelia worked. He didn't know what kind of complicated stuff she was doing to make sure those were really real (he knew the stamp wasn't enough to be _absolutely sure_, it was just the only permitted method of verification under the Goblin Treaty) and didn't really care what exactly the additional security was. He would rather go spar with Mad-Eye or drink firewhiskey at the _Four Score Gryffindor_, a gaudily red-and-gold theme bar for old Lion amuni on Perides Alley (take the right fork at Gringotts, and it's your second left after that).

A few minutes later, Amelia shuffled the documents back into their scroll-cases. "Good. These are legitimate. I'll make the announcement. Auror Proudfoot, I'd like you to relieve Officer Cartwell of her duties guarding the boy now, please. Have a bit of a talk with him if you want. We will have him attend the reading, and you too."

Proudfoot gave a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

At Harry's cell (and it _was_ a prison cell no matter how you looked at it), Proudfoot knocked quietly before entering. Harry was carefully examining the moving children's book, complete with little enchanted fairy dolls.

"Oh, I remember you. This magic stuff is really interesting, Mr. Auror. I want to learn all about it. There are so many things I could do now that were impossible before. Do you think you could get me some books about how magic works?" Proudfoot smiled, thinking _Ravenclaw for sure_. Then he blinked. Harry was not acting _at all_ like a child who had been neglected, forced to work long hours, and probably beaten. He looked closer, and the kid _was_ tense and occasionally glanced at the door or Proudfoot's highly visible Auror-style forearm wand holster. But he was not a hollow shell, cringing at every movement, expecting a fist at any moment. _Perhaps whatever happened to him is not nearly as bad as I thought. I'm no child psychologist, after all._

Finally composing a reply, he regretfully told Harry, "I'm no good at explaining things, and I don't have my old school books with me right now, so I'm afraid you can't read about magic quite yet. I really do have to guard the door and not chat with you, too. How about you ask one question and then I go for a while?"

"Okay." If he only got one question, some thought should go into what to ask... Yesterday, he had mentioned the Wizengamot, he said that they would probably decide where he ended up going... "What is the Wizengamot and how does it work?"

Proudfoot raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You go straight for the hard stuff, don't you? Well, it's kind of complicated but I'll do the best I can."

"Basically, the Wizengamot is the magical world's version of Parliament. I'm a half-blood, so I know at least a little bit about how muggles work. Anyway, so... Everyone in the Wizengamot discusses and debates and then votes on laws, but they also meet to make a decision on important criminal hearings or strange and exceptional issues that pop up. And like the muggle government, we have a House of Commons and a House of Lords, but they all vote together instead of separately. The positions in the House of Lords are inherited by whoever becomes the Head of House for all the Ancient and Noble Houses, who are pretty much all the old pure-blood families. A fair number of them are actually empty since the family lines have died out, but every single Ancient and Noble House is entitled to exactly one seat. The positions in the House of Commons are about half filled with people from various posts in the ministry, and the rest are elected once every 7 years. There's about a hundred Lords positions full right now, and forty Commons positions. Instead of a Prime Minister we have the Minister of Magic, but there is also a Chief Warlock. The Chief Warlock actually leads the Wizengamot, declaring whose turn it is to speak and calling votes and so forth. And I'm not sure how much of this you're understanding, Harry."

"Yeah, that sounds really complicated. But if they vote, and there's a lot more Lords than Commons, the Lords have most of the power, right?"

"That's right. It's even worse, since the Lords choose who gets into about half of the Commons positions, the ones that aren't elected. Oh! I almost forgot. Harry, we found your parents' wills. Nobody knew where to find them before, but I went and asked the Goblins if they had any copies, and we don't think you were supposed to be in that muggle neighborhood. The Wizengamot will listen to the wills being read and carry out your parents' wills for them later today."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Why are such important people making a big deal out of me? I didn't do anything wrong! I don't want to go to prison!"

"Hey, calm down! Kid, do you know why you need someone guarding your cell?"

"No. Why? I'm just a little Freaky kid. A lock would be plenty to keep me in."

"Well, the reason you need a guard is because you're actually really famous in the magical world. We are keeping you away from all the people who would want to shake your hand and get your autograph."

Harry blinked "Okay. I'm famous. And you found my parents' wills. And I haven't had to do any chores, and I've been getting plenty of food, and I even got to see a doctor. That's only the second time I've seen a doctor! This is the silliest week. Based on what you just told me and the number of surprises I've had recently, I'm betting my parents didn't die in a car crash."

"A car crash, kill James, the best Auror of the war? Or Lily, who could beat Shacklebolt in a duel? Ha! The truth is... A lot sadder than that, unfortunately. A few years ago, there was a really big war in the magical world. It was so terrible that most people still won't even say the name of the enemy leader. I'll tell you the name, you deserve to know... But people will be alarmed if you say it out loud, so try not to. His name was_ Voldemort_. His soldiers were called Death Eaters, and that name will frighten people too, so be careful. Most people called him the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named. Your parents went into hiding near the time you were born, but after a few months, he hunted them down and broke into your house. He killed your parents, but somehow when he tried to kill you... It didn't work. He disappeared instead, and Albus Dumbledore found his wand in the ruins of your parents' house. Somehow, he died when he attacked you. Nobody knows why, but it made you the second most famous person in living memory, right behind the living legend of Dumbledore himself."

Harry was silent for a while. "This is a lot of information. I need to think about it. How long until the Wizengamot reads that will and wants to see me?"

"A few hours, maybe more."

"I think I'd like some food, and then I'd like to be left alone until then." Proudfoot just nodded.

* * *

I read all reviews, reply to some, and appreciate every Favorite and Follow. The logo is a möbius strip, if anyone was curious.


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